


When the wind speaks

by VulpesVulpes713



Series: Fictober 2018 [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fictober 2018, M/M, Magic, Pining, Spirits, klance, wind spirit lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpesVulpes713/pseuds/VulpesVulpes713
Summary: Prompt:“Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”





	1. Chapter 1

He’s never minded the wind before.

It’s never been that much of a nuisance to be labeled as such, so Keith hadn’t ever felt the need to call attention to it.

But then he went hiking in the mountains of Western Canada, up where the firs grow tall and the spruce are as thick as two Shiro’s standing side by side.

He’d been on a mission to spot glaciers, wildlife, and the untamed beauty of the North.

What he found instead was a pesky breeze that had no intention of leaving him be.

All weekend it had lingered, despite the forecast calling for stale days. And Keith wouldn’t have minded it all that much is it weren’t so  _constant!_

In the morning, when he exited his tent, the branches nearby would begin to sway gently, as if in greeting. In the afternoon, when the heat of the sun would bring a sweat to his brow, it would pick up speed and blow just a little bit harder, keeping him cool. And at night, under a canopy of stars mirrored in a perfectly calm lake, the wind would whistle in the trees, singing it’s song as it teased the coals of the fire and tickled his skin with goosebumps. It would curl into his hair, playing with it almost fondly until he retired to his sleeping bag, and when he woke the cycle would repeat.

Hardly things to complain about in hindsight, but the fact of the matter is that the wind, as odd as it sounds, seems to have followed him back to the city.

And it didn’t take Keith long to figure out why.

According to Allura, who was the only one of his friends to take his complaints seriously following his return from the mountains, he’d captured the attention of an air spirit. A sylph, or something just as cryptic.

Keith had been skeptical at first. Anyone would have been. And he had promptly told Allura that her bizzare, witchy explanations to his problems were no help at all. Air spirits weren’t real. Sylphs didn’t exist. There was only weather, and a slightly annoying increase in wind.

Oh, how she would laugh at him now.

*****

The morning it happened he’d been lingering inside, eyeing the bushes out front with a skeptical eye. They were still. Unmoving. But that hardly meant anything after his trip. No matter the forecast, Keith’s days were consistently filled with wind.

Gusts, gales, breezes…it didn’t matter: he experienced all of it every time he stepped outside.

So he was eyeing the bushes, wondering if perhaps this was the first step to his tumble into madness: the day he would mention in therapy as the catalyst to it all.

_See doc, the wind won’t leave me alone. Am I crazy? Yeah? Thought so._

He sighs, rubbing his eyes as he dons his coat and reaches for the doorknob.

_It’s alright. The bushes were still. It’s not windy outside. You saw it. You read the forecast this morning. Sun and cloud, no wind. No. Wind._

He steps out, pauses, holds his breath…

And…there’s nothing! No shiver up his spine, no nip at his nose…it’s still, just like the bushes.

_See!? It was all in your head! The wind isn’t following me-_

And then something touches his hair, tousling it, playing with the ends. He whips around to confront whoever  _would dare_  do such a thing, and finds no one. Just his yard, the willow hanging low over the driveway, the flowerbed overrun by weeds, and the bushes. The still, unmoving, bushes.

Which makes no sense at all because his hair is still moving and he can  _feel_  the delicate flurries of air run through his roots and lift the ends up,  _up_ , into the sky. But the bushes-

And Keith may or may not snap.

“That’s  _enough!”_  he bellows, clenching his fists as he glares up at the clouds overhead. They’re still as well. Taunting him.  _Those fucking bastards-_

But it’s not the clouds at fault. It’s the stupid  _wind!_ And it messes his hair as if in retaliation for his outburst.

So he swats at it. Naturally. And then pulls his hood up over his head.

“Quit it!” he grumbles loudly, glaring at nothing in particular. Because he can’t. He’s getting angry at the wind. “Go bother someone else!”

_Yeah, you tell ‘em Keith. Tell that wind to piss off._

And it does, for the briefest of moments, and just when Keith thinks he’s won there’s a voice near his ear. Hushed, whispered…

Bodiless.

“Ah, but that wouldn’t be any fun.”

Keith may or may not scream. Granted, he thinks that’s a warranted reaction given he just  _heard someone speak when there’s no one around._

Forget wind. He should be more worried about ghosts.

“Who-the  _fuck-”_

There’s a laugh, and then the sensation of tiny swirling currents of air pressing against his cheeks.

“Don’t hide your hair,” the voice whistles, and Keith  _hates_  how he can not only tell it’s fucking  _gender,_  but that he can  _hear_  the humour within it. Like whatever- _thing-_ is messing with him is getting a proper kick out of it. But before he can even attempt punching at nothing, a sudden gust blows directly into his face, pushing back his hood and drying out his eyes, and then that same voice is laughing. “It’s my favourite thing  _ever!”_

And Keith can do nothing to defend himself against it.

“Gah-sto-” but he knows there’s no point trying. He’s attempted sticking his head out of a moving car window before, and it’s impossible to  _breathe_ , much less speak. So instead he stumbles backward, reaching blindly for the door handle. As soon as his fingers clasp it he pushes down, and falls over the step into the hall of his house.

And all at once the wind stops.

“What the  _fucking shit-”_  he curses, wincing as his elbow throbs from the impact.

“ **Oh please, like this is the worst I have done,** ” the voice teases, and Keith can almost visualize the expression that would accompany such a tone. “Your hair is just…so  _soft!_  And cute! I like making it dance- _”_

“Don’t-” Keith stammers, swallowing thickly as his head begins to pound. “This isn’t real, this isn’t-”

“Ah…don’t be like that,” the voice pouts, and Keith blinks moisture back into his eyes before shooting a glare at the empty doorway. Because this voice is calling him out now? Making fun of him for reacting like a perfectly reasonable person? 

Unacceptable.

“ _Me?!_ You’re the one being the  _dick!”_

And great. He’s arguing with the weather now.

“Am not,” the voice retorts, and Keith can see the dust on the step begin to twirl in lazy circles. Allura’s words come back to him with startling clarity, but Keith shakes his head of them.

_There’s no way…there’s no way-_

“Can you come back out?” the voice requests, smaller this time, as if shy, and Keith watches as a tiny daisy head is lifted by a gentle breeze, flipping several times in the air before landing near his feet with the softness of a breath. “I won’t do it again…I promise.”

Keith stares.

And he stares.

And he thinks maybe he passes out at one point, because the next thing he knows he’s being woken by the neighbours cat as it walks directly across his face and into his kitchen as if it owns the place.

His head hurts, as does his elbow.

And he wants to call it all a dream: some hallucination he can blame on lack of sleep or work overload. But when he sits up he sees a row of daisies placed neatly around his feet, which are still hanging outside his front door from his collapse. And as much as he wants to pretend the neighbours cat did it…he’s no idiot.

Because beside the daisies is word scrawled into the dirt on his step. Just a single word. In a scrawl that’s not his own.

**SORRY.**

And cats can’t spell, so clearly it was the wind.

_And I’m officially insane. Great._

He calls Allura, and tries not to have a panic attack.

All the while the bushes out front remain still.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:  
> Day 20: “I hope you have a speech prepared.”  
> Day 21: “Impressive, truly.”  
> Day 22: “I know how you love to play games.”

She takes her sweet time getting to his place, so much so that Keith is partially convinced she’s doing it on purpose.

To teach him a lesson, or else prove a point.

Regardless, when he finally spots her vehicle pulling up to the curb he’s nothing but thankful. Because she’s here! And Allura will  _definitely_  tell him what the hell is going on.

He waits in the hall when he hears the knock on his door, then hastily beckons her in without opening it for her.

“Come in, it’s unlocked.”

She does, frowning at him as he gestures for her to get inside as quickly as possible.

“Hurry! I don’t want it getting in!”

“Excuse me?” Allura demands, glancing over her shoulder at the door. But Keith grabs her arm and pulls her into the kitchen before she can think to open it again.

“ **I hope you have a speech prepared,** ” he says once at the table, ignoring the windows in case he sees more floating flowers.

“A…speech?” Allura questions, taking her coat off and sitting down. “Why would I have a speech ready?”

“You know,” Keith grumbles. “Some explanation for all this? Some reason? Hell, I’ll even take a lecture at this point.” He runs his hands through his hair, waiting, but Allura doesn’t humour him. Instead she stares, watching, until finally Keith can take no more.

“Dude! Help!”

She blinks, and her expression sobers.

“You’re serious, aren’t you.” It’s not a question so much as an observation, but Keith answers nonetheless.

“Yeah I’m serious! The wind is out to get me! And I know how crazy I sounded on the phone but…but I remembered what you’d said before and-well…” he trails off, hating to admit that her previous explanations might hold some fragment of truth. “I think I’m losing my mind…”

His head falls to the table, and he welcomes the pain that follows. Maybe it’ll knock some sense back into his brain.

“I think,” Allura hums, standing and waltzing over to the window, “the best way to analyze the situation is to see it in action.”

“What’s that mean?” Keith grumbles, not bothering to lift his head.

“I mean, let’s go outside for a bit and just…see what happens-”

“No.”

“Keith,” Allura huffs, and then a hand is placed on his shoulder. “Come on. How can I help you otherwise? I need to figure this out as much as you do.”

And he wants to argue: say that he can tell her just as easily as show her. But that would let Allura know that he’s scared, hesitant. And the last thing he wants is for her to start spreading rumours of him developing a phobia of wind.

So he groans, loudly and for a good few seconds, before standing and heading towards the back door.

“Fine. But I warned you..”

She grins, and follows him out into the yard. And for a moment it’s calm. The sun beats down on them, unhindered by clouds, and the foliage is stagnant. Allura is watching him, and Keith feels his insides plummet as he realizes that nothing is going to happen.

The wind isn’t targeting him. It’s not playing with him, or stalking him, or even whispering words into his ears.

He’s crazy. He must be.

“So…how long does it usually take-” Allura begins, but trails off after a pointed glare from Keith.

“C’mon,” he mumbles under his breath, glancing up at the sky. “ _Now_  you choose to behave? Typical-”

And then he feels it: a gentle breeze twirling around his torso up to his cheeks, moving purposefully towards his hair. Keith almost laughs when his roots lift up, but manages to hold back in favour of pointing towards it instead.

_“See?!”_

And Allura is frowning now, wetting her finger to hold up in the air. But Keith already knows what she’s about to say. He knows because he’s been experiencing it for the past  _week_.

“But it’s not windy-”

“I  _know!_ This is the  _shit_  I’ve had to deal with! It’s annoying and- _”_  Keith practically yells, but he breaks off when his hair drops suddenly. “Wait, what-”

And then he hears it: that same voice from before-invisible and fluid and-

“You think I’m annoying?”

-and hurt. Dejected. Just, absolutely blue.

 _Great_. He’s gone and hurt the winds feelings now.

But before he can even begin to apologize, he hears Allura gasp: hands going to her mouth as she stares wide-eyed at the place the voice had originated.

“Did-you-”

And Keith nods, answering her unspoken questions.

“Yeah. I told you it talks-”

But Allura’s bewilderment turns to anger in the span of a breath, and she turns to Keith with a glare.

“I don’t care that-I  _know_  that Sylphs have the ability to speak once addressed, but you-you-!”

And he’s backing up now, hands in front of him as she storms forward.

 _“You can’t just insult air spirits like that Keith!_ What if he summons a hurricane? Or a thunderstorm?! Hell, I’m surprised a tornado hasn’t already appeared out of nowhere!”

Keith gulps, eyes darting up to the sky in fear of seeing a grey spiral forming in the middle of his lawn. But there’s nothing. Only those few white clouds and the unbothered sun.

“It- _he-_ ” he corrects, suddenly wary of his manners-or lack thereof- “he can do that?”

Allura nods, abandoning her menacing approach in favour of tilting her head up to the sky.

“He didn’t mean it,” she says to no one in particular. “He’s a fool, and you must forgive his stupidity-”

“Hey!” Keith grumbles, but Allura silences him with a hand as a piece of her hair is lifted up and twirled, almost as if around a finger.

“ **Impressive, truly…** ” she whispers, and Keith isn’t sure if he should feel relief, or fear, or wonder.

What he ends up with instead is this bizarre pang of envy that he hastily suppresses.

Because he’s never seen it on someone else. He’s only ever experienced the wind himself, and watching Allura’s hair be tousled as if by an invisible hand…well…it’s magical, really. And Keith immediately regrets calling it annoying, despite having felt that way numerous times.

_It’s amazing…_

So he approaches, slowly and without blinking, because he’s  _sure_  he can see it: the outlines of fingers combing through Allura’s hair. But that would be impossible, right?

Then again…maybe not.

“Do-” but he doesn’t finish the sentence, as whatever… _being_  had been playing with Allura’s hair suddenly quits, and it falls back down to her shoulders limply.

“Oh, wait,” Allura turns, facing the direction the breeze had been. “Don’t leave! He’ll apologize, right Keith?”

She shoots a glare his way, and Keith decides it’s best not to argue. He doesn’t think his insurance will cover freak wind events either, so perhaps humility is the best route.

“I-uh…right.” He clears his throat, staring down at his hands as his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I’m…sorry, that I called you annoying.”

_Please don’t wreck my house._

The pause that follows is nearly enough to have Keith losing his patience again, but then a daisy is dropped onto his head, and when he looks up to see where it had come from, there’s nothing.

Just blinding blue sky.

He bends to pluck the flower from off the ground, and twirls it between his fingers a few times as that embarrassment shifts to something else.

Guilt, maybe? It has to be. Because there’s no way he’s being bashful right now. Just no way.

“I’ll take that as you accepting my apology?” he asks, eyeing Allura knowingly as she nods. And then her hair is lifted again, and she grins as wisps of it blow across her face.

For some reason that annoys Keith more than the typhoon to the face he experienced earlier.

_Unbelievable-_

“I like this one,” the voice speaks suddenly. And it’s clear: crisp, like an autumn breeze…which, yeah. That makes sense. But Keith can pin-point where it comes from this time, and he shifts his gaze towards what he assumes to be the face of the Sylph, or whatever it is.

“You like me?” Allura chimes, cheeks rosy from the praise.

“You don’t complain when I make your hair dance. You don’t think I’m annoying,” the voice answers, and Keith feels himself slip into a pout.

“Yeah well, you’re being nice to her,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t mind either, but  **I know how you love to play games.** ”

“Keith-” Allura warns, but a graceful giggle fills the air around them, and all at once Keith’s hair is blown back from his face. He stumbles from the force of it, and falls down to the grass with a thud.

“Hey-!  _See?!”_ He yells, shielding his face, and the wind relents. It’s replaced by a gentle draft that hovers over his torso, and Keith tries not to imagine too hard the position that must accompany the location of the voice when it speaks again.

“You’re right. But I can’t help myself! Your hair is just too cute! I want to make it dance and fill it with flowers and leaves and-”

“You could braid it!” Allura suggests, kneeling beside Keith and the Sylph with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“No, no-” Keith tries to save himself, but it’s too late. The damage has been done.

“What’s ‘braid’?” the voice asks, and Allura is grinning.

“I’ll show you.”

And just like that Keith is forced to sit still while Allura and the wind make a mess of his hair. He grumbles about it at first, but after a while he relaxes. It’s not the  _worst_  thing in the world, having his hair played with. And oddly enough he finds the voice of the Sylph to be quite calming, especially when he can just listen to him and not have to contribute to the conversation.

“So this piece will cross here,” Allura instructs, and Keith feels a tender breeze tickle his scalp.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, exactly, and then you’ll-”

Keith zones out, listening but not comprehending the words that are exchanged behind his back as he sits on the grass of his yard. At one point Allura stands, saying she’ll make some coffee for them to enjoy in the sun, and ignores Keith’s insistence that he go instead.

“You stay,” she says slyly. “Besides, I think he prefers your hair to mine.”

“That’s not-” but she’s gone: door closing behind her and promptly ending the discussion.

So Keith sighs, and the wind whistles briefly as it swirls around his head, detangling the braids to start fresh.

“I love this. Your hair is amazing,” the voice sings, and it’s right next to Keith’s ear. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend it’s a real person sitting beside him, touching his hair and commenting on how pretty it is every other minute. Any finally he can’t help it any longer, and asks.

“Do you really like my hair that much?”

“I do,” the Sylph responds instantly, and Keith knows his ears are turning pink.

“But…why? It’s just…normal hair. It’s nothing special. And Allura has so much more of it to play with so-”

“It’s not just that,” the voice answers, and Keith feels a gentle tug on his hair as it’s parted in the back. It’s funny, but Keith swears he can feel the individual fingers making their way across his neck and up his temples. They’re soft, and delicate, and practically human. “It’s the person the hair is attached to as well.”

A shiver runs down Keith’s spine without permission, and all at once the breeze draws back.

“Am I making you cold?”

Keith shakes his head, too nervous to respond. His cheeks are blazing, but he’s quick to reassure the Sylph that he’s fine.

“No..it’s just-” and he pauses, frowning as he stares at the place he imagines the face to be. He can almost make out the features…the curve of a jaw, the slope of a nose…wide eyes and full lips.

He looks away, silencing his thoughts in favour of picking grass.

“Do you have a name?”

Because he has to know at this point. He can’t keep referring to the wind as…well, the  _wind._  They’re beyond that stage of pleasantry.

“I have many names,” the voice hums, and that same gentle breeze is back, teasing his bangs away from his face. “But your tongue can’t pronounce them all.”

“Then…” Keith clears his throat, pretending not to feel as shy as he is about having his forehead exposed. “Do you have a name I  _can_  pronounce? If you’re going to stay I have to start calling you something other than-” he pauses, hair falling back into his eyes as everything goes still. “What’s wrong?”

“Do…do you mean it?”

“Mean what?” Keith asks, confused. “If you don’t want to tell me your name then-”

“No, not that,” the voice answers, and Keith can almost sense the smile that follows the next question. “Do you mean I can stay? With you?”

Keith’s mouth falls open. He hadn’t even realized he’d said that, but it’s too late to deny it now. And he wouldn’t anyway. Somewhere during all the braiding his mind was made up.

He wants to keep the wind around. He doesn’t mind it  _that_  much.

“I mean,” he blushes, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he does. “I doubt you would leave me alone anyway, so…”

A gust of wind erupts in front of him, stirring the leaves in the branches overhead and causing the flowers to dance in the garden by the fence. Keith braces himself for the impact-the sting of cold gales against his cheeks, but it doesn’t come. He doesn’t feel it.

What he gets instead is that same gentle breath of air in his hair, lifting the roots, making the ends dance.

“Then you can call me Lance,” the voice says, and it’s soft. It’s cordial. And again Keith is nearly convinced he can see the smile that accompanies it.

“Lance…” he tries, and the air around him spins giddily. “Okay then. Lance it is.”

He grins, and pretends it means nothing when Allura joins them again, wondering what has him so pink and shy. But he waves her off, blaming the sun, and she and Lance begin working on his hair again, learning all sorts of braiding styles that have Keith dozing contently as they work.

And it’s nice. Because he’s never minded the wind before. Never thought much of it.

But now he thinks he might notice it’s absence: that he’d miss it if it left.

He smiles to himself as a familiar breeze tickles his skin, raising goosebumps that can’t really be blamed on a chill, and hums happily as he sinks deeper into the grass, closing his eyes as his hair is made to dance in the wind.

And he doesn’t mind.

Not anymore.

How could he, know that he knows it’s name?


End file.
